AD
by slam a revolving door
Summary: A.D. is Latin for 'in the year of our Lord.' But the common misinterpretation has much more premise for storywriting: 'after death'. So what does happen after death? What do people regret saying? How are they left to mourn?
1. Part I: Foreman

**Disclaimer for the entire story**: I do not own House.

**Warning**: Character death

**Parts: **6 … possibly 7

**Reviews: **are love. Make my day!

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**A.D.:** Part I

I backed away slowly, trying to look anywhere but at the hard, cold box in the middle of the room. People were still in their seats, some talking softly, but mostly silent. As my eyes were unwillingly fixed on the box, it came as a surprise when my foot contacted the threshold, jerking me back to my senses. He wouldn't have wanted me to be a coward. In fact, he was always pushing me to stand up to him. He enjoyed watching me get annoyed.

The room was grew silent as I walked slowly up the aisle, face hardening into a blank and unreadable expression. I paused slightly before I reached the mahogany wood box in the front of the church. I had worked for him for years … and now that he was gone, what would I do? My foot shot across the final step of its own accord. I had to say goodbye for the last time.

It was the hardest thing I had ever done – to look into that box and see him lying there. His face, so blank and expressionless in life _just like yours now_ was calm and peaceful. His piercing stare was gone – his eyes were closed instead. But worst of all was that House, who had so much to say against life, was silent in death. (_did you expect anything else?) _He wasn't clutching any flowers, and roses did not adorned his last resting place. Instead, he lay there, cane by his side – silent. (_The dead speak not and snark not.) _

"Hey." I whispered. As I looked down into his silent face, I could almost imagine him listening to me. Maybe he was. How would I know? (_House always liked surprising people.) _"Hey, it's me, Foreman." I paused, not knowing what to say. I had never done something like this before. At my brother's funeral, I cried from a distance, because my father hadn't wanted me to be there. At my grandmother's funeral, my father had conceded, and let me sit in the back of the church. I cried from that distance, because she had been my rock when I was younger. I had never thought that House would die. He had always been there, solidly, snarkily present. Sure, perhaps he had been _dying_, but dying was different from death. It happened to different people. People who weren't strong and bitter like House.

Maybe it was House's bitterness that kept him alive for so long. People who held a grudge against life as he did, struggled to stay alive, to prove that they could live. Or maybe I had been around House too long and was already starting to think like him. It was entirely plausible.

On an impulse, I glanced down at my shoes, and then back at the box, wondering if he was still wearing the same shoes. House wasn't as predictable as he'd have liked to think. You could always count on him to be unpredictable, but in essence, he was always the same. Always rude, always abrasive, always there. But not anymore.

I remembered the time when I had tried to 'help' him on his date with Cameron. (_Some relationships just aren't meant to be). _He had seen right through me then, and perhaps he could see even clearer now. He had understood everyone's motives, relished in his understanding … but perhaps that was what killed him. He understood too much, had seen too much and knew too much. He knew how screwed up life was … and that was what killed him. Because he knew there wasn't any point trying. But …

"You were wrong." I told House firmly. "You _are _wrong. Life isn't that screwed up. It's what we make of it that matters. And now I know somewhere you're mocking me for sounding like Cameron, but heck, you should have listened to her more. She …" (_loved; hated?) _" … was the only one of the team who implicitly trusted you. All the time."

I glanced over my shoulder at the remaining people. Most of those who hadn't really known House had left already – most were just (_appalled; intrigued?) _there to watch House make his final journey. He was a legend. No, he was The Legend. And some even had the audacity to offer us jobs. Chase had glared, I had snarked (_like House, you're just like House) … _and Cameron had turned away. Now, I could see Wilson leaning against the wall, eyes politely averted from me, but obviously waiting. Chase was still sitting a pew, head bowed and eyes closed. Cuddy was pacing by the door, but Cameron … Cameron had already left, which surprised me. (_She had had too much experience with death, too much exposure to death.)_

"I don't know why she's gone now." I told House, shrugging. "Maybe you do. You were always good at reading her … all of us. Maybe you shouldn't have tried so hard." Resting my hand on his brown box, I gave a half-smile. "You were good, House. But maybe you would have been better if you had trusted as much as Cameron did." I tilted my head to its side, considering that statement. "Nah, House … you were great. You couldn't have been a better _doctor_, just a better person. Maybe you can't be both … only one or the other. I don't know. But I sure aim to find out." (_"You're perfect just the way you are." His mum is supporting, smothering and loving him all at once.)_

I took one last look at my boss _ex-boss, ex-boss_ and turned around. With each step I took from him, I could feel that door closing. (_Stop the door, stop the door, bring it all back, this isn't what I want! )_

Goodbye.

The word echoes in my head endlessly.

Like a voice without a sound.

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**End Part I **


	2. Part II: Wilson

**Disclaimer for the entire story**: I do not own House.

**Warning:** Character death

**Parts: **6 … possibly 7

**Reviews: **are love. Make my day!

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**A.D.: Part II**

I nodded briefly at Foreman as he made his hasty exit, though he didn't see me. As I approached House … Greg's still, lifeless body, I could feel a strange atmospheric tension in the air. Glancing over my shoulder I saw Foreman's back disappearing behind the door, though slower now, as though reluctant to leave.

"House." I looked down at him, his trusty cane by his side – one of many. He had fought so long and so hard with that cane, that leg, that now it was ironic to think that he would never need it again. What use has the dead of canes? Nevertheless, for old time's sake I had placed it in the coffin next to him. _(was that for your closure, or for his?) _

Some of the tension had left the air, and I brushed my fingers over the cold wood of the box reverently, trying to hear House's voice again. _(voices from the depths of the earth are welcome here.) 'You know that if you're wrong about the big picture, you'll burn, don't you?_ I had once said to him. Now, my words echoed (_in the space, in the miles)_ in the eternity between us, and I could feel tears welling in my eyes. He had hated fire for the greater _(bitterer) _part of his life. On the day Stacy had left there had been a fire burning in the grate. On the day when his rat had died there had been a fire burning in the grate. _(On each day when every one of your wives left there had been a fire burning in the grate. Was it _his _hatred of fire or was it yours?) _

And yet, still, inexplicably there was hope. After all, why else would he have requested a church service? Perhaps there had been more going on in House's life than I had thought. _(Or perhaps it was a dying man's last grasp at the last thin straw of hope)_

"I'll look after Steve." I told House, dragging myself away from my thoughts with an effort that he would have mocked me for. "I'll look after Steve … _and _your Corvette." I grin slightly at the thought of his horror, but the grin is quickly vanquished when I realise that I will never see his varying expressions again.

"We had good times together, didn't we?" I reflected quietly, looking down at his blank face and trying not to _(grin, laugh, weep) _cry. It was ironic that a man who expressed so much _(and so little)_ through his facial expressions would be condemned to such a blank, empty face in death. I had seen many of those expressions so many times … and most had been directed at me. We had known each other for so long, and rarer yet for House, been _friends _for so long. Our friendship was warped and screwed, but it held the faintest touch of reality that I believed kept House alive for so long. Everything else wasn't reality – it was tapered to fit his fantasy.

His nightmare.

I remembered warning Dr. Cameron not to break his heart once oh so long ago. She didn't have the time to – he didn't give her the time to. But somehow, inexplicably, on that date of theirs _(so different from their non-date) _she did break his heart. Not on purpose – I doubt Dr. Cameron could break anyone's heart intentionally – but something she said, something _he _said broke his heart. And now as I gazed down at House's silent, guarded face, I realised what had happened. Why he had been so vague. Why _she _had been so vague.

He hadn't wanted to hurt her.

"You're an idiot, House." I told him firmly, shaking those pesky tears away. "You wouldn't have hurt her if you tried not to." _(Maybe he would have, who knows?) _I glare down at him with what strength I can muster, then look away, tired. It's useless being angry with the dead. _(What deeds have passed is past)_

He lay there, unmoving and silent, and perhaps that was what killed me the most. The sudden realisation that he would never move again. That he would never sit in his lounge and eat Chinese takeaway and grumble about Dr, Chase's latest screw-up and Dr. Foreman's inability to accept his leadership. But secretly, I knew he was proud of them. Very secretly. Why else would he have kept them for so long? Renewed their fellowships? Not fired Chase after Vogler had left? Convinced Foreman not to leave? Asked Cameron back?

I wondered dimly what the team would do now without House as their leader. Would they stay or would they be foolish enough to leave? And suddenly, I see. House had been preparing them for this day all along. He knew he wasn't invincible, no matter what he seemed to think. He knew he wasn't completely infallible. He knew that he wasn't going to last forever. He would have wanted them to stay together. Each of them had learned so much from each other and given so much back. Heck, they had even taught House a thing or two. _(A heck of a lot)_ They would be foolish to leave, and Dr. Cuddy would be stupid to _let _them leave. They were House's legacy, his last will and testament.

They were the only ones he trusted to leave behind.

"Nice, House." I whispered, swiping at my tears quickly. "Nice."

And what of me? What was I to him?

I looked at his peaceful face, and closed my eyes. In life, I had been his friend. In death …

Who knew?

Who wanted to?

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	3. Part III: Cuddy

**Disclaimer** for the entire story: I do not own House.

**Warning**: Character death

**Parts: **6 … possibly 7

**Reviews: **are love. Make my day!

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**A.D.: Part III**

I watched Wilson brush his fingers briefly over House's coffin, lowering my lashes briefly as he turned and walked down the aisle towards me. He glanced at me and hesitated, shooting a brief look back at where House lay.

"Let him go, Wilson." I told him, holding his gaze for a moment. He glared at me in a manner that was painfully reminiscent of House, before nodding slowly and exiting through the door. I bowed my head and expelled a breath of air I hadn't realised I had been holding. Chase raised his head from where he sat in one of the back pews and looked at me, signalling for me to go ahead and not wait for him. Flashing him a small smile, I nodded and headed up the aisle as he lowered his head again, lips moving in a silent prayer to a God I hadn't known he believed in.

Thoughts raced across my mind as I took each steady step closer to farewelling House. We had known each other for longer than it seemed possible to know any one person. I had first heard of him at Hopkins, just before he left. _(Gregory House knows everything, you think as you walk out of the lecture theatre) _Already he had been a legend. I had thought that was as close as I would ever get to knowing him. But somehow, the medical profession was only so small and years later I had met him again at a conference. _(Serendipity … for him or for you?) _He had been dating Stacy at the time. They had been perfect for each other – she had been slightly selfish and he had been slightly cynical – and somehow they clicked. _(How did a relationship based on faults work?) Their_ relationship had lasted longer than House's parents would have liked, longer than Wilson expected and longer than I ever thought a relationship could last for.

Of course, the infarction had changed all that. _(Just how much, you never really comprehended) _I remembered looking down at the once invincible Gregory House and mourning. I hadn't known what I was mourning at the time, but after surgery, it became apparent. It was the light, the spark that made him, despite his brilliance, human that had gone. And all that was left was an angry, bitter shell. _(shells fragile crack)_

I offered him a job at Princeton, because I knew he wouldn't survive anywhere else. _(You had a brilliant doctor, albeit a crippled one and one that couldn't start work for a while, but a brilliant doctor all the same_.

He accepted, and for a while, everything was calm. Sometimes I looked at him and realised that he never really forgave me for seeing him in his moment of weakness and 'pitying' him enough to offer him a job. _(He never really forgave himself for his weakness in accepting the job.) _But the calm was always on the surface, because beneath his thin layer of protective ice, the water had already started to boil over.

He had been barely halfway into his rehab before it became apparent that something was wrong. _(Afterwards something was always wrong) _He seemed to be angry all the time, frustrated and, upon occasion, viciously cruel. Soon afterwards Stacy left.

I looked at House's expressionless face, and realised that she had been the cause of that lack of expression. _(Twice over) _There was once _(upon a time) _when I had thought that he would recover entirely, but after Stacy's abrupt departure, I realised nothing would ever be the same. He had given up.

And so I fought him. I forced him to do what he hated to do, blackmailed him, verbally sparred with him and never gave him any inkling that I pitied him in any way. _(You had learned your lesson) _I mocked him, insulted him and got in his way, because I knew that as long as he had a challenge, House would continue fighting. I didn't want him to give up and sink into that black abyss Stacy had left behind. I didn't try to make him happy, just to keep him sane.

But the only other person apart from Wilson who had tried to make House happy was Dr. Cameron. Idealistic and naïve, my first impression of her was fragile. She wouldn't last long, I decided, as House made his usual infuriating remarks about how I had some competition when he'd first hired her. _(She was beautiful, more beautiful than you ever were.) _How wrong I had been! She not only lasted her complete fellowship, she had it renewed along with the boys. And sometimes, when I looked through the glass windows of the diagnostics department during a quiet period, I could see something in House's eyes as he watched her, lazily throwing his blasted oversized tennis ball_ (that he wouldn't tell you the purpose of – it'd always infuriated you_) up and down. Or perhaps he'd be watching the television – one of his mindless soaps that he only watched when he needed time to think. And I'd look at him and wonder what he was thinking so hard about _(because he'd be concentrating ever so hard on the television)_. And then his gaze would flick momentarily to Dr. Cameron's figure on the other side of the glass wall, and I'd go along on my way.

At least House cared about someone, reluctant as he was to show it.

I looked at him again, trying to recall how his voice sounded. Funny how quickly the mind forgets. But as I sifted desperately through memories _(you had never been desperate any other time in your life, had you?), _a thought drifted from my subconscious.

Now that House was gone who was I to fight?

_(Because ultimately it didn't just keep him sane, it kept you sane too.)_

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	4. Part IV: Chase

**Disclaimer for the entire story:** I do not own House.

**Warning:** Character death

**Parts: **6 … possibly 7

**Reviews: **are love. Make my day!

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**A.D.: Part IV**

I watched Cuddy walk out of church; eyes glittering with what seemed to be unshed tears. She never glanced back at the cold box at the front of the room, and somehow I didn't blame her. Standing up slowly _(not reluctantly)_, I walked down the aisle towards House. Each step that I took seemed to weigh me down further. _(You always found it so hard to say goodbye)_

House had always been there to mess me up, to pay me out, to trip me over. There were many times when I thought I hated him. Yet he had become a warped parental figure – or least a warped confidante. _(You figured that he was going to know everything anyway, so why bother keeping it from him?) _I hadn't told Cameron or Foreman about my family, though Cameron 'would care', as House put it. I had told House. House. The one man who wouldn't care – who I was certain would mock me and label me 'broken.'

But for that one moment when I finished my spiel, I thought I saw something in House's fathomless, expressionless eyes. Something that vaguely resembled _(pity? No … he was not a pitying man.) _empathy … or sympathy … or something that made me think that he understood a lot more than he let on. I never forgot that moment, even after he dismissed me. And I held onto the knowledge that House was indeed as human as the rest of us. And perhaps he was as scared of making mistakes as we all were.

"I made lots of mistakes," I muttered down to thin layer of glass that separated House from the world of the living. Yeah, perhaps I had made the most mistakes out of the team. I had killed a patient … I had slept with Cameron … I had run off to Vogler … and I had angioed the wrong leg _(which perhaps was the most telling mistake of all)_. I had seen the flash of temper as House realised my mistake. At the time I had put it down to his intolerance of people screwing up, but then … I had sat in on his lecture.

And then I realised.

House's leg had become as it was because of a delay in the correct diagnosis. My mistake could have cost the patient her leg as House's doctors' cost him his. _(And he was scared – oh so scared)_ But I thought of none of that as I ran over to Vogler.

I hadn't gone to my father's funeral, yet here I was at House's. _(Why why why?) _It was because of the distance, I tried to tell myself. Australia was too far away for me to make it there in time and back again. _(Besides, he had enough people who loved him)_ But my father hadn't always been there for me – hell, he had never really been there for me. And House – House had always been solidly present – sarcastic and hurtful – but always there. I knew _(though) _that as long as I worked at Princeton, House would always be there. I needed that constant presence, because _(and it pains you to admit it)_ even after … more than fifteen years? … I still needed some assurance that some things always remained the same.

But they didn't, did they?

"Everybody lies," I told House, chewing my lip. "Foreman was right. You _do _come under the heading 'everybody'." I paused, fiddling with the tie I hated. "You didn't mean to lie – how could you when you weren't even trying to tell the truth?" _(How did that make sense?) _House's blank, unseeing eyes stared straight back at me with no reproach, and I suppose that was what broke me the most. No matter how many dead people I had known, I never had to see their faces – completely devoid of life. Who had left his eyes open? Dead people weren't meant to be able to looks up at the world around them and see all that they would never be part of again. They weren't meant to be able to see those they never had the chance to say goodbye to. _(Your father never said goodbye to you, and you never said goodbye to him.) _Did House get the chance to say what he wanted to say, or did death snatch the words out of his mouth? I recalled him once - in the hospital bed, eyes dark with what seemed like fear _(fear of what? Of death … or life?). _He had gasped, and I had thought he was gasping for breath.

Maybe.

I heard a sound from behind me, and I turned abruptly to see a silhouette in the doorway.

"You done there?" she asked – far too loudly.

I looked back at House.

"Sure," I replied. And she came forward, and I glanced back at House's empty face. "I'm glad you didn't end up happily ever after with her." I murmured. "There would be no happily ever after with her."

Nodding briefly to Stacy, I walked back down the aisle. As I paused to look back, the sunlight from behind the stained glass windows of the church seemed to flicker and fade a little.

"Thanks, House," I flashed a brief smile. "I'll remember everything."

As I left the church, I glanced at my watch. There was still time to call my travel agent for a weeklong flight to Australia.

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	5. Part V: Stacy

**Disclaimer** **for the entire story**: I do not own House.

**Warning:** Character death 

**Parts: **6 … possibly 7

**Reviews: **are love. Make my day!

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**A.D.: Part V**

I turned silently as Dr. Chase left the church, regretting my brusque manner as I saw his cold, perfectly straight face. Ironic how I found myself regretting something Greg would have no trouble brushing aside. _(Yeah, you were the perfect person, right? Sensitive … caring … all that.) _I paused, halfway down the aisle, suddenly reluctant to go further. Did I really have the right to … of course I did. I was his … _(ex, betrayer, saviour) _… friend, after a sort. As I started up the steps, I lost my balance and tripped. Reaching out instinctively to grasp Mark's wheelchair, my hand met only with empty air, and I shook my head, annoyed with myself. Regaining my composure, I marched up to Greg's coffin, with some annoyance.

Looking at his peaceful face, my irritation died away at once. To say he looked happy would be an exaggeration, but he looked … at rest. I had always loved watching him sleep, I reminisced, a small smile tugging on the corners of my lips. He had always looked so at ease … no longer having to fight with the world. (_The war is over for good now.) _Peering closer into the wooden box, I noticed the cold, shiny handle of his cane, and I felt my head spinning. Just for a moment though. It seemed to fit there next to him, exactly as it had been in life. I wasn't guilty. I refused to feel guilty.

People remembered that our relationship had ended when the infarction came and House became oh-so-bitter. _(You knew it wasn't true) _In reality, it had been over the minute we'd stopped fighting about little things. When we had started to mellow and lean towards the neutral. The beginning of our relationship had been full of passion and greed and things better left unsaid. That stage had lasted three years _(three years of fighting and enjoying it) _before we had started on our downhill spiral. In the end we were too alike, and too full of intense fury.

Our relationship was nearly over when Greg had his infarction. And suddenly, we were the perfect TV couple again – full of 'I-love-you's' and 'I'm-not-going-to-die's.' _(When you're dying suddenly everyone loves you) _For those anxious weeks in hospital I could pretend that we were alright, that we would be alright. Because it certainly seemed that way.

And then I had saved his life, and no, it does not happen the way it ought. Saving someone's life usually ends in tears and hugs and happily ever afters and riding into the sunset. Saving _Greg's_ life ended with bitterness and failed rehab and the therapist. But I had never really been a fairytale princess anyway, so maybe it was better this way. _(And anyway, you would never know)_.

I could never decide if saving his life was the bravest or the stupidest thing I had ever done. _(Who said they had to be mutually exclusive?) _Sometimes I even wondered if I should have just let him die, just because it was what he wanted. And then, I would come to my senses, because really, a life in pain _is, _after all, still a life, isn't it? It's better to be alive than dead … because at least you're still …alive. It means you still have a chance.

I looked back down at his coffin and ran my hand gently over the glass. This wasn't how it was supposed to end. He was supposed to stay alive and cling to that chance I had given him, not throw it all away with one reckless motorcycle ride in a Vicodin induced haze. He was always stupid that way.

The mahogany handle of his cane gleamed softly up at me, and I smiled affectionately at it, not caring that it was, in fact, an inanimate object. It had been there for Greg when I could not be, and was his sole aide to life. It seemed appropriate that it should be now buried or cremated with him, depending on what Blythe and John House decided. Greg's parents had opted to wait outside for all the mourners to have their own private moments with Greg before taking his body with the funeral bearers. Greg had never really gotten along with his parents _(though you were never entirely sure why)_, but they had always seemed nice enough, if a bit short at times – something I could empathise with.

How horrible for them, I realised with a pang of a sudden maternal instinct that I hadn't been aware of. They weren't meant to be there for Greg's funeral – he was supposed to arrange theirs. What sort of _(screwed up)_ world was this, when the child left before the parent? _(the type of screwed up person Greg was_).

I turned away.

"Goodbye, Greg," I said over my shoulder. And at the last moment, I whirled back around, abandoning the poise and grace that had characterised me since my father left us when I was ten. "I'm … sorry." The words fell haltingly from my mouth, and I paused to watch his face before turning.

As I walked slowly down the aisle, head bowed, I became aware of someone watching me from the door. I looked up and saw Mark in his wheelchair staring straight at me. I didn't say a word, and I didn't ask him how he knew that I would be here. _(maybe you should have told him) _Reaching him, I placed a hand in his.

"Let's go home," he said gently, and I nodded.

Home.

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**A/N: **Well, I'm not entirely happy with this chapter, but that's okay, because it doesn't have to be my favourite. Only one chapter left, guys … thanks for sticking with me.


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